


The Perfect Mr Nice Guy

by Small_Hobbit



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 11:07:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14714879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: There's a new number, or to be exact, two numbers, but one person





	The Perfect Mr Nice Guy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aragarna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aragarna/gifts).



“There’s a new number,” Reese said as he came into the library.

“Well, yes,” Finch replied.  “But it doesn’t make sense.”

“That wouldn’t be the first time, either.”

“Strictly speaking, there are two numbers, but one person.  Take a look.”

Reese looked at the information Finch had displayed.  “Brandon Johnson.  An apparently completely normal citizen, wife, two kids, slightly responsible if somewhat boring job, goes bowling with friends once a week, helps out with the older kid’s basketball team.  The perfect Mr Nice Guy.  Too perfect?”

“Yes, I think so.  The second number would imply an alter ego, but as yet I can’t see any transition from this one to the other.”

“A sleeper, then.  And since his number’s come up, a sleeper that’s about to wake.  Do you want me to take a look at him?”

“Yes.  I’m assuming since both numbers are present whatever is going to happen will happen soon, so it would be good if you were in the vicinity when it did.  I’ll try and find out who is waking him.”

While Reese went to check out Johnson, Finch hunted furiously for any indication as to why the Machine had given them the number.  He worked his way back through Johnson’s timeline until finally he found a blip.  Hurriedly he cross-referenced the date before calling Reese.

“Mr Reese, I think I’ve found it.  Johnson’s not his real name.”

“If it’s something Russian sounding, I won’t be surprised.”

“It’s Chechen.  What’s happening?”

“He’s been in a coffee shop, a few tables over from a group of Eastern Europeans dressed in suits, almost certainly listening in on their conversation.”

“Shouldn’t he be at work?”

“He called them and said he’d been up all night with toothache and was going to an emergency dentist.”

“A ruse?”

“From the way he was drinking coffee and eating a donut, I’d say yes.  The suits left the coffee shop, and Johnson followed them at a distance.  For a man who claims to be an average guy he’s very good at trailing someone without being spotted.  They’re in a parking lot right now.”  Reese paused, then continued, “Hang on, there’s some sort of argument within the group.  Now, one of them’s stormed off.”

Finch heard a loud bang through Reese’s earpiece.

“Mr Reese,” he called, “are you okay?”

For a few seconds there was no reply, then Reese said, “Yes!  The suits’ car exploded.  Three of them must be dead.  But I’ve lost sight of the fourth.”  There was another pause before Reese added, “And I can’t see Johnson either.”

“I’ll try and track him through his phone.”

“Do that!  I’ll cast around, see if I can pick up his trail from this end.”

Finch soon located the cellphone, but the signal wasn’t coming from anywhere close to where Reese was.  He narrowed it down and discovered the phone was at a dentist’s office.  Finch gave a wry smile; clearly Johnson had abandoned his old life together with the phone, and he also expected someone would try and trace him via his phone.

With that line of enquiry brought to a close, Finch was forced to try to trace Johnson by other means.  He was in the process of running three separate searches concurrently when Reese called.

“I’ve found him.  He’s joined up with the fourth member of the group I mentioned.  They seem to be having an argument.  I’m too far away to hear what’s being said, but both of them seem quite angry.”

Finch was about to say something when Reese interrupted, “The other man’s taken a knife out of his coat pocket.  I’m going to have to do something.”

“Be careful, Mr Reese.”

Once more Finch was forced to wait for Reese to report back.  When he did so, he sounded strained.

“I’m making for the safe house with Johnson.  Can you meet us there?”

“I’m on my way.  Is Johnson hurt?”

“A couple of minor flesh injuries, nothing too serious.”

“And what about you?”  There was no reply, so Finch repeated the question.  “Mr Reese, what about you?”

“I shall need a clean shirt.”

“Where’s the other man?”

“He ran off.”

“I’ll bring Bear with me in case we have any trouble.”

When Finch reached the safe house he saw Johnson helping Reese inside.  He followed them in, Bear on his heels. 

When Johnson had eased him onto a chair, Reese was able to say, “Brandon, this is my colleague.”

“Hello, Brandon,” Finch said.  “How badly are you hurt?”

“Nothing a band-aid won’t fix.  Your colleague insisted we come here when I suggested he go to ER.”

Finch nodded.  “I can deal with him.”

“Can I help?  I know some first aid.”

Finch and Reese exchanged glances.  Then Reese nodded, and Finch replied, “An extra pair of hands is always useful.”

As Reese had his stab wound treated, he said to Johnson, “What was the argument about?”

Johnson gave a half laugh.  “I guess you know I’m not quite what I seem.”  Finch gave a grunt of acknowledgement, and Johnson continued, “I was telling my contact I was no longer sure I wanted to be a part of his organization.  Things have moved on politically.  I’ve moved on; I’ve got kids.  When I signed up I had no family and nothing to live for.  Now I can’t bear the thought of leaving them.”  He sighed heavily.  “What am I going to do?”

“How much do you know about the current organization?” Finch asked.

“Nothing.  I received the call and was told where to go.”

“Which was?” Reese snapped.  Finch would have remonstrated with Reese about his tone, but put it down to the pain of his injury.

“The coffee shop.  From there, I was to follow a group – it wasn’t difficult to work out which group it was.  After that, I was supposed to contact one of the group.  Again, there was only one left alive, so that was obvious.  I don’t even know the man’s name.”

“What do you …” Reese began.  He swore as Finch finished the stitches.

“If you held still and let me ask the questions it wouldn’t hurt so much,” Finch said.  He ignored Reese’s grumble and continued, “Your contact will need to check back to confirm his next move.  If Mr Reese managed to clone his phone, we can keep track of him.”

Reese mumbled something about taking his phone out of his pocket once he was allowed to move.

“If you must,” Finch said.  He accepted the phone, which Reese had carefully manoeuvred out of his pocket, and said, “I’m just going into the next room.  Mr Reese, please sit still until I return.”

At the doorway, Finch waved his hand at Bear, who trotted over and sat with his head on Reese’s knee.

Finch returned a few minutes later.  “All done,” he said.  “I’ve disabled your contact’s phone, which will delay him in reaching his handlers, and by that time he does, they will have received sufficient information and his report will be discredited.  So, Brandon, what do you want to do?”

“I’d like to return to my old life, my kids and my wife and my job.  I’d not tried to get a promotion before because it hadn’t seemed worth it, but there are opportunities I’d like to take.  But how do I get back to it?”

“You told your office you’d gone to the dentist.  Just say you felt whoozy after the anaesthetic and thought it wiser to take the rest of the day off.  And maybe be a bit careful what you eat for the next few days when you’re with your colleagues.”

“What about my phone?”

“I’ll get someone to pick it up for you.  If you’ve missed any calls you can blame it on the whooziness.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yes.  You can return to your old life.”

“Thank you.  Thank you both.”

Once Johnson had left, Reese turned to Finch and said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so keen to go back to a humdrum existence.”

“Not everyone is as fond of the unpredictable as you or I, Mr Reese.”  Finch surveyed his stitching.  “And sometimes I can understand why.  Time to head back.  We can sit quietly in the park and let Bear play with his ball and make the most of the time before we receive the next number.”


End file.
